It Ends In Flame
by androidilenya
Summary: "So I, perhaps, was most like you in the end, Fëanáro. Son of the Spirit of Fire, drowning in flame. Haunted by the faces of those of my kin that I slew, leading my people and myself to destruction for the love of the works of your hands." Maedhros' point of view at his death.


**Maedhros' p.o.v. at his death. Presumably addressing Fëanor.**

**I own nothing. ****The Silmarillion**** and all related characters, locales, etc. belong to J.R.R. Tolkein. Inspired by a picture by Gold-Seven on deviantART by the same name (see cover picture).**

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_"But the jewel burned the hand of Maedhros in pain unbearable; and he perceived that it was as Eönwë had said, and that his right thereto had become void, and that the oath was vain. And being in anguish and despair he cast himself into a gaping chasm filled with fire, and so ended; and the Silmaril that he bore was taken into the bosom of the Earth."_

-From The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkein

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So it ends. In flame, in water, in the heavens. Here it ends for me, too, at the last. In fire, in blood, in darkness.

Your eldest son is dying, father. Dying for words spoken long ago in a land far from here, a land that we may no longer return to. We are exiles indeed, cast from our birthplace because of our rash words and the blood we spilled. I die in flame with my oath fulfilled at last. That which we fought for all these years is even now in my hand.

Am I now so different from you, father? Am I not now the one that was most like you, though in life you counted me among the disappointments of your children? For now I, too, am a spirit of fire, consumed by the flames around me that burn still less than that which I hold. And I, too, have led those I should have protected to their doom.

Will it end now? The killing, the dying, the agony of knowing that no matter what happiness we may attain here, the oath will haunt us to the end of our days... will all of that fade away? That oath chased us to our deaths and doomed countless others to theirs. Will Ilúvatar ever forgive us? How long in the Halls of Mandos till this sin is washed away?

The kinslaying at Alquelondë. The burning of the ships. The slaying of Dior and his people in the Thousand Caves. The assault on the Havens. And in between, the thousand deaths caused as we threw ourselves at Morgoth, dying for something we could not even touch in the end. Set in motion by words spoken under the stars by eight headstrong fools, eight Noldor that knew not what they spoke. We continued your legacy by killing innocents, by abandoning babes in the forest, by leading our own people to their deaths.

My hands are as bloodstained as yours.

This blood will never be washed from our hands. This blood can only be burned from us. Not a thousand Ages in the Halls of Mandos may release us. I am doomed to the Darkness even as you are. Yet even that seems preferable, now, to the life we have lived. We have been hunted by our oath to the ends of the world and to our own ends. And now, I simply wish for it to end.

We followed you because we loved you, father. We followed for love and we killed for love and we died for love. What evil my brothers and I did was in the name of love, though we were driven by the words of the oath we spoke with you.

I killed for you, father.

I die for you, father.

Do you remember how our swords shone red in the torchlight, as though already stained by the blood they would shed in the days to come? Do you recall the doom we felt as we spoke those words, calling upon Ilúvatar himself and the Everlasting Darkness? We named in witness those who would stop us, protect us from our own reckless arrogance. And then we marched from the land we knew into the darkness from which we came.

How many deaths, father? How many deaths have the sons of Fëanor caused to reach this goal, only to have it end thus, in fire and water and air?

Amrod and Amras have fallen. Celegorm and Caranthir and Curufin have fallen. Maglor and Maedhros alone now remain- and we are unworthy of that which we have strained for all these ages. For the words spoken by the herald of Manwë are true: what right the sons of Fëanor had to those jewels was long ago lost in blood and darkness.

It burns me, father. I am unworthy to hold the Silmarils all my kin died for. Did you know it would end thus? Did you know when you spoke that oath that even were we to all throw our lives into this, throw _away_ our lives for this, the deeds we did would never let us claim what was ours?

I have led my people into death, even as you did. Am I now so different from you? I die for the fulfillment of this oath. I die with a Silmaril clutched in my hand, a hand it burns even now in remembrance of the fact that I am become as evil as he who stole them.

Do they vilify the seven sons as they do the father? Do they speak the name of Maedhros with the same hatred that they name you? I cannot doubt it now, after all that we have done. I stood aside from the least of the evils for the love of my cousin and watched the ships burn, but did not shrink from murder. I followed a path of doom and led my brothers to their deaths.

So I, perhaps, was most like you in the end, Fëanáro. Son of the Spirit of Fire, drowning in flame. Haunted by the faces of those of my kin that I slew, leading my people and myself to destruction for the love of the works of your hands.

Are you proud of me now? Are you proud of your sons? We have lived as you lived, died as you died, searching for something that was never ours, disregarding our people and the words of those wiser than all of us. Our path is a blood-soaked one, leading only into the darkness. The Everlasting Darkness. That which we doomed ourselves to by our own words.

There are none we can blame but ourselves.

That oath has never left the sons of Fëanor. It has chased them to their deaths, made them sick and weary so they wished in their hearts to die. And now it is revealed that their oath was in vain. For in its very fulfillment they made it beyond their reach to keep their word and keep their life as well. So it must end like this. One final act that puts the Silmarils beyond the reach of all until the Breaking of the World, even if it cost our lives. Even though it costs my life.

Perhaps, in the end, it was the only way to be free. Now we are at peace. I go to join you, my father, join you and my brothers. Our oath is fulfilled- the Silmarils are now beyond the reach of even the Valar. One in the sky, one in the Sea, and one in the very heart of the earth. And here shall be my grave as well, purified by the flame, released from this pain.

Let it end here.

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**Thank you for reading. Review please~**

**Posted in honor of my one-year anniversary on this site.**


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